Opus

Duality

That summer, I was home,
I was in love, and
my hair grew long and sleek and beautiful.
For him, I made a world.
a world for only the two of us,
founded in our dreams and enraptured.
Our voices whispered, echoed,
was silent. The only sound
was breaths and lips and teeth.
The only touch, of scorched fingertips.
For him, I was a woman.
A real woman, of skin and bones
and stardust.

(But he was only a dream)

So back here in the asphalt air
full of city-sounds and rushing feet,
ants on the morning bus, and cockroaches
making love next door.
My hair cropped to keep out the heat.
My glasses sit on my nose like an identity.
Or rather a mask
the lenses stained with city-grime.
I sit on my desk, look out of the window
into a sky-coloured apathy stuck in
the in-betweens.
I wish for the city to paint me invisible.